


Black, No Sugar, One Cream

by doritoFace1q (orphan_account)



Series: Do It Right This Time [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Deal With It, Everyone has different names, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin) Has Long Hair, Levi/Erwin Smith-centric, Minor Levi/Zeke Jaeger, Politician Erwin Smith, Prequel, Protective Erwin Smith, Sassy Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Short Story, Tattoos, Tea Shop Owner Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Zeke Jaeger Being an Asshole, don't worry i'm disgusted too, read the rest of the goddamned series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 06:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18822985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/doritoFace1q
Summary: “Hey!”Alastair started, and the boy (there was no way he was the same age, he looked so much younger) scowled (He has an accent. He didn’t have an accent before. British, maybe?).“I’m sorry, what was that?” Alastair said politely. “It seems I zoned out for a bit.”“Damn right you did,” the boy bit his lip ring in a way that made it seem habitual. “Now, what the hell do you want?”Eruri short story set in the universe of my reincarnation fic, Do It Right This Time.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> This is an Eruri-centric fic written in the universe of my SnK reincarnation/zombie apocalypse/shameless shipping fic, Do It Right This Time. That one's the main story, so definitely check it out! :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You just gonna stand there, or are you gonna leave, old man?”
> 
> Alastair’s heart pounded. _Old man_. “Levi?” he chanced.
> 
> The boy frowned. “What?”
> 
> Alastair wet his lips nervously. “Is your name Levi?”
> 
> The boy scowled. “What the fu – hell?” he muttered. He jabbed at the nametag on his black apron. “My name’s Stark. Not Levi.”
> 
>  _Stark_. “Of course, my mistake,” Alastair smiled. “I apologize – I mistook you for someone else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvy/Levi's tattoo: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/52/b4/b8/52b4b8ecc02d2d7d3d715888b819bae9.jpg
> 
> Also, I did a little sketch of Elvy that you can find on my tumblr here: https://doritoface1q.tumblr.com/image/183828837626

The first time Alastair sees him, he thinks he’s dreaming.

            He’s a bit shorter than before, though not by much – an inch or two, at the most. His hair’s longer, too, though Alastair can see he’s kept the undercut. The long raven locks are pulled back in a messy bun, and there are a few strands hanging loose by his face. He has piercings, now, too: one in his right ear, and a whole row going up the left, along with a snake bite on his lip. There’s a tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve of his shirt, and his eyes are lined with what looks like kohl.

            “Hey!”

            Alastair started, and the boy (there was no way he was the same age, he looked so much younger) scowled (He has an accent. He didn’t have an accent before. British, maybe?).

            “I’m sorry, what was that?” Alastair said politely. “It seems I zoned out for a bit.”

            “Damn right you did,” the boy bit his lip ring in a way that made it seem habitual. “Now, what the hell do you want?”

            “Oh, um –” Alastair blinked slightly at the familiar, crass tone, but said nothing. “Black coffee, no sugar, one cream, please.”

            The boy blew a strand of hair out of his face, typing into an iPad. “Three twenty-five.” Alastair swiped his card in the reader, then, while putting it away, dug out a five-dollar bill and dropped it in the tip jar (It was, predictably, near empty). The boy raised an eyebrow, but simply turned around, moving for the coffee machine. “Wait there,” he nodded at the other end of the counter.

            Alastair watched the young man as he made the coffee. There was an uninterested air around him as he poured the coffee into a paper cup, adding the sugars and cream and dropping the empty wrappers into a nearby trashcan. He gave the outside of the cup a quick wipe before putting on the lid and sliding it across the counter.

            “Enjoy,” he monotoned.

            “Thank you,” Alastair picked it up, but remained standing there, blue eyes locked on silver. The boy raised an eyebrow, giving him an inquisitive look.

            “You just gonna stand there, or are you gonna leave, old man?”

            Alastair’s heart pounded. _Old man_. “Levi?” he chanced.

            The boy frowned. “What?”

            Alastair wet his lips nervously. “Is your name Levi?”

            The boy scowled. “What the fu – hell?” he muttered. He jabbed at the nametag on his black apron. “My name’s Stark. Not Levi.”

            _Stark_. “Of course, my mistake,” Alastair smiled. “I apologize – I mistook you for someone else.”

            “Yeah, no kidding,” Stark muttered, walking back to the cash register, where another person stood, waiting patiently.

            Alastair walked to a corner of the café, sitting down at a small table by the window. His eyes roamed around the room, and he occasionally glanced over the other customers, most of whom were either people grabbing drinks or delicate, hand-made pastries, dressed in work clothes, or students, chattering happily as they grabbed their breakfasts, either leaving with them or sitting down at the various tables, couches, and beanbags scattered throughout the room. But his eyes kept being drawn back to Stark.

            He left nearly an hour later, coffee cold and untouched.

 

The second time Alastair walks into the café, he’s sure he’s gone insane.

            A tall person, wild hair dyed vibrant pink, is leaned over the counter, chatting energetically to Stark as he sprayed whipped cream on top of what looked like a coffee milkshake.

            “— you should have seen it! The longest convulsions I’ve ever seen –!”

             “Uh-huh,” Stark shook a container of sprinkles over the whipped cream mountain. “Don’t care.”

            “Aw, you know you love me, Stark!” The person reached for what now looked like a diabetic’s worst nightmare. Stark stuck a straw into it and shoved it into their hands.

            “I really don’t.”

            “Ah, well!” The person whirled around, grinning over their shoulder. “Guess I’ll get out of here before my sugar high hits! I’m reserving that for the lab.”

            “Well, hurry the hell up, then,” Stark grumbled.

            “So rude!” The person pouted as they began walking towards the door. “You know, if you weren’t so good at this, I doubt you’d have any customers at all –” They stopped in front of Alastair, eyes widening.

            Alastair stared back at them, heart pounding. Their wild pink hair was pulled back into messy ponytail. Neon green straps wrapped around their head, holding purple glasses over large brown eyes that gazed at Alastair from behind the lenses, wide with shock.

            “Oi, four-eyes,” Stark called, and they both jumped. “You gonna go or what?”

            “I –” they swallowed. “I think I’m gonna wait, actually.”

            Stark frowned. “What?”

            “Carry on, Mister Eyebrows,” they plopped down on a beanbag near the counter, smiling.

            Alastair leaves with them later.

            Their name is Hans Wildgrube.

 

The next time he walks into the store, his blood freezes cold.

            The café is nearly empty – it’s late, near closing, he thinks – save for him, a college student snoozing on a couch, five empty coffee cups and a pile of books on the table in front of him, Stark, and another man.

            The man is standing behind Stark at the counter, and, for a moment, Alastair thinks it’s another employee – something he knows isn’t true, considering Hans had told him that the only people working in the café were Stark (He was the manager, who knew? Guess he finally got that teashop), Levi’s old squad (who had never made any indication of knowing Hans, but often made passing comments about ‘back then’ and randomly saluted Stark when he walked in and out of the kitchen), and a high school sophomore who spent the majority of his shifts reading comics at the counter. So, unless this man had been held back by at least a decade, he highly doubted he was Stark’s shift partner.

            Although, judging by their position, he certainly _was_ his partner in other ways.

            The man looked up as Alastair stepped in, chin resting on top of Stark’s head, arms wrapped around his waist (It was quite a long reach). He tilted his head slightly, the streetlights outside reflecting on his glasses. His eyes narrowed by a fraction of an inch as he observed Alastair, who’s heart was pounding.

            He recognized the man. Of course he did. Granted he’d never actually seen him before, unless watching as a giant ape hurled rocks at him counted. But he recognized him – Hans had given him a detailed description (And punched the wall. And kicked a streetlamp. And ran into the middle of the road and screamed profanities at the sky, shortly before Alastair dragged them away, leaving a very indignant street of people behind).

            Zeke Jaeger (Or whatever his name was now – frankly, Alastair didn’t care).

            “Oi,” Stark nudged at the taller man with his shoulder (He looked way too old for him – there was no way that Stark was older than twenty-three, and what’s-his-name looked at least thirty. Or was that just the beard?) (It was a god-awful beard). “Get off. I’m working.”

            “So cold,” What’s-his-name crooned, playing absent-mindedly with a strand of the smaller man’s hair. “There’s nobody else here, anyways. Well, there is, but he’s asleep.”

            “What are you, blind, old man?” Stark plucked the glasses off what’s-his-name’s face, putting them on the counter. “Now, get off me. Fetch, or something.”

            What’s-his-name chuckled, leaning against the counter and putting the glasses back on. “What’ll it be today, Eyebrows?” Stark asked.

            What’s-his-name’s gaze pierced Alastair as he stood in front of Stark. “Just black, no sugar, one cream,” he managed a casual smile.

            “Mhm,” Stark picked up the iPad. “Grab that for me, would you, babe?”

            _Babe_. Alastair felt sick.

            “Boyfriend?” he managed as he swiped his card.

            Stark’s eyes flashed as he looked up at the taller man. “Problem?”

            “No!” Alastair said quickly. “No, not at all! Just. . . surprised.”

            Stark raised an eyebrow. “‘Bout what?”

            “I – well, you –"

            “It’s a bit cold,” What’s-his-name cut into the conversation, sliding the coffee cup across the counter. “We turned off the kettle, see.”

            “You don’t even work here,” Stark grumbled as What’s-his-name wrapped an arm around him, pulling him into his chest, nuzzling his hair with his nose. “Let _go_ , Mack.” Stark placed a hand on Mack’s arm, but made no move to remove it.

            Mack sighed, playing with a strand of his hair. “Isn’t he tempestuous?” He smiled warmly at Alastair, but his eyes were cold.

            “I’m not a goddamn dog,” Stark smacked Mack lightly, sliding out of his grip. “Now get out of my employee-only area.”

            Mack pecked Stark on the top of his head, that being the furthest he could reach without having to bend down. “You coming?”

            “I need to get this freeloader off my couch, first.” Stark rolled up his sleeves, and Alastair is able to get a good look at his tattoo – it’s a sleeve, showing mountains, with trees in the foreground and clouds in the back. There’s also a bunny, which Alastair finds adorable.

            “I’ll be upstairs,” Mack lets his hand trail through Stark’s hair as he leaves, the bell tinkling as the door swung shut.

            “You have your own apartment, you know!” Stark sighed, but he was smiling, albeit faintly. “You should probably go, too,” he told Alastair. “I’m cleaning up in a few minutes.”

            For a second, Alastair’s tempted to offer his assistance, but catches himself just in time. “Thank you,” he smiled, and the young man grunted, turning around to storm towards the snoozing student.

            He ran a hand through his hair as he stood outside the café with a sigh, cold coffee in hand (Mack had lied – it had been more than just a little cold. Alastair wondered whether he’d deliberately gave him an ice-cold cup of bean juice on purpose.) (There had also been about five sugars dumped in) (Unsaturated) (It was like drinking sand sludge).

            “Evening, Commander.”

            Alastair started, though not visibly. He turned, seeing Mack leaned against the wall, looking up at the sky, next to a set of stairs behind a gate, leading up to what Alastair assumed were the apartments upstairs.

            “Beast Titan,” Alastair greeted coolly.

            “I must say, it’s nice to meet you at last,” Mack commented, still not looking at him. “I’d heard much about you from my warriors – it intrigued me to hear of a man so similar to myself.”

            “Is that so?” Alastair looked up at the sky as well. “Well, in that case, I’m flattered.”

            A silence fell. “It’s useless,” Mack said suddenly.

            “What?”

            Mack sighed, with the air of explaining something to a very dim child. “He doesn’t remember,” he said. “And, if seeing you, his so-called reason for living, didn’t trigger something, then I really don’t think anything would work. I was his self-proclaimed arch nemesis for five years, I blew his _hand_ off –”

            “You _what_?”

            Mack continued on as if he hadn’t heard Alastair. “— and he didn’t bat an eye. Not even when we fu –”

            “I get it,” Alastair just barely managed to keep himself from snapping. “How old is he, anyways?”

            “Nineteen,” Mack said nonchalantly. “And, before you ask, I’m twenty-four. Closer than you are,” he added slyly, gaze finally sliding over to Alastair. “Mr. Faber.” Alastair’s eyes hardened.

            “I never said anything about –”

            “Yeah, but it’s obvious,” Mack lifted himself off the wall. “How’s it feel to lose, Commander?”

            “Is that all you care about?” Alastair asked, voice cool. Mack raised an eyebrow. “Is that all he means to you?”

            “Oh, of course not,” Mack smiled. “Though, I must admit, I was curious to see what his opinion of me was now that he doesn’t want to kill me.” His grin widened. “I must say, it’s an excellent improvement.”

            “Is that so?”

            “Quite. Well, Commander,” Mack stepped closer to him. “This time, he’s _mine_. New life. New experiences.” He poked Alastair in the chest. “I know that’s the only reason you’re still coming back. Levi’s a master in the kitchen, but there are plenty of places with cheaper coffee of the same quality, that have much better service. So, I’m going to be saying this, not as a former enemy, or your killer, but as _his_ boyfriend.” He leaned in closer, tilting his face slightly to compensate for the five centimetres of height between them. “ _Back off_.”

            Alastair stared coldly back at him. Mack leaned back, charming smile back in place.

            “Good night, Commander!” He opened the gate, slamming it shut with a loud _bang_ , then walked up the stairs, his whistling echoing off the walls.

            Alastair returned home, feeling numb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *goes to bed at normal time*
> 
> Brain Cells: wHat iS tHis? sOmeThinG iS nOt rIghT! cOdE rED, cODe rEd!
> 
> Me: *gets up again to do something stupid*
> 
> Brain Cells: Ah, that’s more like it.
> 
> Me: Fuck my rapidly deteriorating health.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t need your help,” Stark snapped, jamming his phone in his pocket. “I don’t even know you. For all I know, this could just be some elaborate scheme to get in my pants.”
> 
> They stared at each other for a while, separated by five feet on the sidewalk. “I’m sorry,” Alastair finally said. “I never meant to offend you.”
> 
> Stark’s eyes narrowed, and he turned around. “Just stay away from me,” he growled, walking back into the darkness.

Mack is at the café three out of five of Alastair’s next visits, lounging behind the counter with Stark, occasionally mumbling something to the younger man, making faint color rise to his pale cheeks, and a few times trailing his hand down his back lightly (only to be slapped away with a sharp reprimand and light blush).

            “I swear, half the time he’s doing it just to spite us,” Hans, hair bright green today, growled, slurping on their sugary concoction (Stark had drawn a little angry face on top of the whipped cream with chocolate syrup). “Last week, when I walked in, he looked me right in the eyes and started making out with him.”

            “Did he lecture him about health code afterwards?”

            “Mhm.”

            “Huh.”

            The two ex-veterans are sitting on a bench in the park, bundled up tightly (Québec is punishingly cold in the winter). “I still can’t believe Levi – Stark would actually stand for this,” Alastair said, sipping his coffee.

            “Like I said, Alastair, he doesn’t remember anything,” Hans tugged their scarf a bit tighter, an action that reminded Alastair vividly of Mikasa Ackerman. “And, well. . . Mack hasn’t really done anything to him, from what I can tell.”

            “What you can tell?”

            Hans sighed, staring down at the angry face (which now resembles a very upset blobfish). “He doesn’t remember me, Alastair. I’m just another customer to him. A customer he’s on decent terms with who he sometimes runs into at the mall, but just that.”

            Alastair exhaled. Hans nudged him with their shoulder. “Hey, cheer up. Who knows, maybe he’ll walk into a huge forest one day, get his memories back and dump his ass.”

            “You think I want that?” Alastair took another sip of his coffee – it had gone cold. “Hans, you were born with your memories, but getting them back. . .” he tossed the coffee cup over his shoulder, missing the trash can by inches.

            “I know,” Hans said, gentler. “But I have to admit, I do miss our Levi sometimes.” They slurped on the dregs of their sugar sludge. “I mean, Stark’s great, but knowing that he doesn’t know us anymore just kinda. . .” They picked up a glob of whipped cream with the end of their straw. “Well, it sucks.”

            “Let’s not talk about this anymore,” Alastair sighed. “It’s none of our business.” Hans made a small noise. “So, have you found anyone else?”

            “Oh, my Fritz,” Hans’ eyes lit up before going off on a story about how they’d run into Mike, Nanaba, and their three-year-old while they were shopping for their new baby over the weekend, and how they’d made plans for dinner.

            Alastair leaves the park with an invitation to a ‘friendly meetup of reincarnated dead people’ and several dirty looks for littering.

 

“Stark!” Tim banged the table as he laughed. “His name’s _Stark_?”

            “Like, Game of Thrones?” Amaryllis coughed on her apple juice, putting the wine glass down (having to reach significantly further than usual around her massive stomach). “Or is he related to Iron Man?”

            “Fucking _Stark_!” Tim’s still roaring with laughter.

            Amaryllis smacked him. “ _Isabel’s upstairs, idiot, shut up!_ ”

            “I think you’re missing the point.” Despite their words, Hans is holding back a grin of their own.

            “Yeah, I know,” Tim calmed down, taking a sip of wine. “But, honestly, I don’t see a problem with it.”

            Alastair raised an eyebrow. “You don’t see a problem with Levi dating the guy who killed us?”

            “And maimed and scarred him for life,” Hans added, downing their entire glass.

            “Well,” Amaryllis nibbled on a cracker. “It’s not like he’s killed anyone in this life, did he?”

            “And, from what you guys have told me, Stark still has both hands,” Tim said. “He’s an adult –”

            “ _Barely_.”

            “— and Levi’s always been pretty damn good at staying alive. He’ll be fine.”

            “Ali, can I ask you something?” Amaryllis asked. “Is this bothering you because of who Mack is, or –”

            “Do you just want to get back in Stark’s pants?” Tim interuppted.

            “ _Tim!_ ”

 

The next time Alastair walks into the café is almost two weeks later, and Mack is nowhere to be seen.

            Stark grunted as Alastair walked up to the counter in lieu of good morning, already reaching for a coffee cup. “Three twenty-five.” He held out the iPad, turning around to reach for the coffee.

            Alastair frowned as he watched the younger man prepare the drink. His hair was down today, messy, and uncombed, and the knot on his apron was pulled so tight he wondered how Stark was still breathing.

            “Are you alright?” he asked suddenly as Stark put the coffee on the counter, perhaps a bit harder than usual. The young man looked up, and Alastair started. He didn’t have any piercings in, and there were no dark lines of kohl around his eyes. Rather, they were red and puff, ringed with dark bags, as if he hadn’t slept in days.

            “Sure,” Stark muttered, turning away, but Alastair had his wrist in a vicelike grip before he could move away. Stark inhaled sharply.

            “You’re lying,” Alastair said cooly.

            “What the – let go!” Stark snarled, wincing at Alastair’s grip. “Like hell you know!”

            “I –” Alastair stopped himself. _I know_ you _._ Instead, he yanked back Stark’s sleeve, and his eyes widened. There, on the pale flesh, were five deep purple bruises, as if someone had been gripping his arm with enough force to break it.

            “Oi, old man – _let go_ , Eyebrows!” Alastair looked up, and, seeing a flash of pain on Stark’s face, released him immediately.

            “I’m sorry,” he said, and Stark tugged the sleeve back down, scowling at him. “How did that happen?”

            “Accident,” Stark snapped, turning to go back to the counter. Alastair followed him (he was glad that he’d come in early, and they were the only two in the café).

            “Was it Mack?” he asked.

            Stark scowled. “It’s none of your business, that’s what.”

            “Has this happened before?” Alastair pressed on.

            “Have a nice day,” Stark snapped.

            “Has he done anything else?”

            “For god’s sake, Faber!” Stark snarled. Alastair fixed him with a piercing stare, and Stark sighed. “Few times. He wanted to fuck, I didn’t. It’s fine.”

            “No, that is not fine,” Alastair said, and Stark scowled. “Stark, that’s domestic abuse.”

            “It’s not like he made me or anything,” Stark crossed his arms. “It was just a little disagreement. And I still don’t see how this is any of your business.”

            “If _that_ ,” Alastair pointed at Stark’s arm. “Is a little disagreement, then I _really_ don’t want to think about what a full-on fight’s like.”

            “I’m stronger than I look,” Stark snapped, storming out from behind the counter. “See you later.”

            “Are you still with him?” Alastair asked.

            Stark took a deep breath. “I dumped his ass,” he said, slowly, as if struggling to keep his temper from exploding. “And threw all his shit out with him. And, before you ask, _yes_ , I’ve filed for a restraining order.” He threw the door open. “Goodbye.”

            Alastair didn’t argue with him this time.

 

“Good morning, Mr. Faber!” his secretary smiled at him as he walked into the office.

            “Good morning, Cynthia,” he smiled back.

            “You’ve had a few calls this morning, and Doctor Wildgrube came by,” she said.

            “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll get on those calls right away.”

            “Is there anything else you need, sir?”

            “No, thank you.” He paused. “Actually. . . could you connect me to the Ministry of Justice?”

 

Alastair left the office with a sigh, massaging his nose. _What a day_. He was never going out with Hans for lunch again – he loved them, but they had also made him miss three meetings. He shivered slightly, tugging his coat a bit tighter as he walked down the steps. Snow was drifting gently through the air, and his feet crunched through the layer on the ground.

            “Hey.”

            He turned around, and started at the sight of Stark standing behind him. He wore a winter coat over a grey hoodie and pair of black jeans, hood lined with fur, and his hair was in a loose ponytail.

            “Stark,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

            Stark watched him silently. “I got a call from the Ministry of Justice earlier,” he said. “Said my restraining order had been approved. Without me ever even needing to step into court.”

            “That’s good,” Alastair commented, tucking his hands in his pockets.

            “Stop meddling in my life.”

            “I don’t know what you mean.”

            Stark’s glare, if possible, grew darker. “If I know you, you’ve got a little bit of influence in everything that happens.”

            Alastair’s heart skipped a beat. _If I know you_. . . “What do you mean by that?”

            “Mister Alastair Faber,” Stark said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Politician extraordinaire, youngest member of the Senate,” he held up his phone. “Famous do-gooder, too, if all those donations and volunteer trips are to be believed.”

            “I was just trying to help,” Alastair said. “That restraining order would have taken a while to go through, and –”

            “I don’t need your help,” Stark snapped, jamming his phone in his pocket. “I don’t even know you. For all I know, this could just be some elaborate scheme to get in my pants.”

            They stared at each other for a while, separated by five feet on the sidewalk. “I’m sorry,” Alastair finally said. “I never meant to offend you.”

            Stark’s eyes narrowed, and he turned around. “Just stay away from me,” he growled, walking back into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Petition to murder Mack, who's with me?


	3. Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy-ish conclusion. I can't write fluff. I can't romance good. I'm sorry. *runs away in shame*

Alastair heeds Stark’s request. He forgoes visits to the little café, even taking detours around the street where the building is, and stops going to the park Hans tells him that he frequents. He sticks to the bland coffee from mainstream coffee shops and chain restaurants (Mack was wrong – Stark’s coffee beat the tasteless bean grind by a mile). He even tries to stop thinking about him, which never really works, but he still felt like he needed to give it a shot.

            It almost works.

            What he never expected was for the dark-haired man to come to him, instead.

            “Sir,” Cynthia knocked on his open door, and he looked up, blinking blearily. “There’s a delivery here for you. Coffee.”

            Alastair frowned, rubbing the heel of his hand over his eye. “I didn’t order –”

            “On the house.”

            Cynthia quickly backed out of the room as Stark stepped in. He was wearing a dark denim jacket over a dark blue hoodie, and a pair of jeans covered in patches. “Here,” he put a paper bag on Alastair’s desk. “Black, no sugar, one cream. And some tarts. Four-eyes said you’re practically the walking dead in here.”

            Alastair chuckled opening the bag. “Thank you. But why –?”

            “I was a dick,” Stark said simply, sitting down in the chair in front of Alastair’s desk. “And the power cut out, so there wasn’t much left to do at the shop.”

            Alastair took a bite of a delicate fruit tart, having to close his eyes for a few moments as pure bliss washed over him. He opened his eyes to see Stark watching him in amusement.

            “It’s not that good,” Stark said.

            Alastair laughed, wiping a few crumbs off is lips with a napkin. “You discredit yourself. This is delicious.”

            “It’s my mom’s recipe,” Stark said casually.

            Alastair raised an eyebrow, thinking back to what Levi had told him about Kuchel. “Your mother. . ?”

            “Owns the store,” Stark said. “I run it, though. She’s a food blogger, always trying out new recipes.”

            “That’s nice,” Alastair said.

            A silence falls. “I’m sorry,” Stark said finally, running a hand through his hair. “About last time. That was. . . dickish. I was dickish. I was a dick.”

            “It’s alright,” Alastair said. “It was completely my fault. It was out of line.”

            “Yeah, but you did help,” Stark said. “Mack tried to come back to the café a few days ago. Last I heard, his wallet’s hurting for a few thousand dollars.”

            Alastair frowned. “Are you alright?”

            Stark shrugged. “It’s good. Honestly, he was an ass most of the time. Surprised I stayed with him for so long.”

            “I see,” Alastair furrowed his brows. “Why did you stay with him, if he was so bad?”

            Stark shrugged again. “Dunno. There was just something about him. . .” he frowned. “Like I knew him really well or something. I mean, it just kinda clicked when we first met. And he never really hid the fact that he was interested.”

            Alastair nodded, trying to hide the fact that his heartbeat had begun to race. “What do you mean, click?”

            Stark rolled his eyes. “I _don’t know_. But, it’s like,” he gestured at Alastair. “Here. Now. I’m talking to you like I’ve known you for years, but I’ve literally never had a proper conversation with you before, and the most intimate we’ve gotten is you messing with my legal shit.”

            “Legal shit?” Alastair couldn’t help but laugh.

            “What?”

            “Stark, you’re sitting in a member of the Senate’s office, and the best descriptor you can come up with is _legal shit?_ ”

            “You _are_ the senator, and you’re not exactly telling me off for swearing in your fancy office,” Stark bit back.

            “Fair,” Alastair smiled, taking a sip of the coffee. He almost moans – he’s missed this blend.

            Stark scowled. “Weirdo,” he muttered, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

            “Could I take you out for a cup of coffee?” Alastair couldn’t keep the question from spilling past his lips.

            Stark raised an eyebrow. “I run a teahouse, Eyebrows, I don’t really need to go anywhere to get a cuppa.”

            “Of course,” Alastair shook his head. “I’m sorry, you’re probably not looking for a rebound.”

            “And you’re not looking to be one,” Stark stated matter-of-factly. Alastair raised both eyebrows. “Don’t do that, you look constipated.”

            Alastair chuckled. “I’ll take your word for it.”

            Stark’s phone pinged, and he glanced down at it. “Shit,” he muttered, standing up. “That’s my cousin. I was supposed to pick her up from her karate tournament half an hour ago.”

            “Oh, I’m sorry,” Alastair stood up.

            “Not your fault,” Stark said. “Although,” he paused by the door, turning around slightly. “I might have said no to coffee, but if you feel like stopping by the café after closing tomorrow, I might be inclined to share some cold tea and old pastries.”

            It was the best cold tea Alastair had ever had.

 

It’s their third ‘date’ when Stark kisses him.

            It’s soft, chaste – nothing like the hot, passionate kisses Erwin had been used to. But it’s warm, and he knows it’s genuine.

            “Elvy,” he mumbled.

            “What?” Alastair raised a hand, cupping Stark’s cheek, nearly engulfing his small face in his hand.

            “My name,” he muttered against Alastair’s lips. “It’s Elvy. Elvy Stark.”

            Alastair grinned, kissing the corner of Elvy’s mouth. “It suits you.”

            “If you ever call me that in public, I’m kicking your ass,” Elvy said, but his voice lacked the usual bite.

            “It’s a good name,” Alastair said. “There was a politician in 2006 named Elvy, you know. Elvy Robichaud. Legislative Assembly of New Brunswick.”

            “Alastair, that is the worst compliment I’ve ever heard.”

            Alastair nibbled at his lower lip. “Mhm. ‘Kay, Vee.”

            Elvy pinched him. “That’s even worse.”

            “Means ‘elf warrior’,” Alastair commented. “Suits you.”

            Elvy rolled his eyes. “You already knew, didn’t you?”

            “I may or may not have done some digging.”

            “Stalker.”

            “Alright, Elfy.”

            “Do you want to get laid or not?”

            He doesn’t think he’s ever moved faster in that life.

 

Alastair wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, the sun shining down on the sheets, tangled around his legs, something small and warm in his arms.

            _Ah_. . .

            He blinks a few times, clearing the morning bleariness, and looked down at the man in his arms. Elvy was slumbering quietly, wrapped up in Alastair’s arms, not unlike a teddy bear. His long raven hair was spread out on the pillow behind him and, as Alastair watched, he shifted in his sleep, nuzzling against Alastair’s neck.

            Alastair smiled, kissing him lightly on the forehead as the smaller man’s eyes opened slowly. He yawned and then lifted his gaze to look at the older man.

            “Morning, kitten,” Alastair smiled.

            “Morning,” Elvy opened his mouth, but froze mid-yawn, eyes narrowing. “Wait. . . what did you just call me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pet names are adorable. Feel free to fight me. I have a chainsaw.


End file.
